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Sunlight beat down on the crew of the Twilight's Agent. Rays of white hot light scorched the ocean and shone through the water like it was a prism. Colours scattered and danced amongst the gentle rolling of the waves, and Thomas found himself looking overboard, entranced. He was almost in a reverie, but a clap on the shoulder from the First Mate - a large man named Albern - brought him round.
"C'mon, Tommy," he said, slinging a coil of rope over his shoulder. "Y'can stare at the sea all y'want later, but right now we need all hands on deck to get us through this stretch."
Thomas nodded and returned to his post, immediately throwing himself into his work. With the help of his fellow sailors, they urged the ship from a slow crawl to under full sail in a matter of minutes. The captain barked orders left and right as the helmsman maintained a steady course.
The ship was a trade ship by nature, although there had been recent additions to protect it's valuable cargo. A small battery of cannons had been added to both sides, and a ram attached to the bow of the ship to take advantage of the ship's momentum when cutting through the oceans at it's top speed. The cargo in question on this journey was a selection of furs and timber from Salnyria that were bound for the College of Navigators in Falkir, though the captain had decided to detour through Reuntar along the Hangman's Strait to pick up some extra valuables on the way there. Apparently Navigators in general loved shiny things, and would pay a premium for them, which offset the potential danger of the detour. There were rumours of pirates and other, more natural dangers along that particular stretch of ocean; more so than anywhere else on the various oceans of Alnwyr.
Thomas continued to keep himself busy, fully aware that Albern was watching him like a Spearhawk watches its prey. It wouldn't be long until they could settle in and gamble a little, or have a drink and watch the world pass around them. He busied himself with trimming rotten ropes and folding unused sails, whilst keeping an ear out for any more commands from the captain.
Soon enough, there came a cry of "Ease up!" from the captain's position, which echoed around the ship as higher ranking sailors repeated the cry so that all heard it. With a sigh of relief, Thomas took to staring over the port side of the ship and into the jade coloured waters that they were jetting through. Albern joined him shortly after, the pair of them observing the natural beauty that spread out for miles before them.
"It's one hell of a sight, ain't it lad?"
"Yeah..."
"Ya've only sailed with us a couple times so far, aye?" Albern asked, leaning against the rail. "Ever been out at sea before that?"
"No, not really. Hailing from Falkir, it's tough to find ships taking sailors that aren't Navigators."
Almost all ships taking on new crew members in Falkir were looking specifically for Navigators, but Thomas had been lucky. This ship didn't have one, as the captain believed that they weren't necessary. Anybody who wanted to sail with him had to share that belief or else they wouldn't even board. Most ships nowadays had a Navigator - one that could help calm stormy weather, or put choppy currents at rest. Their magic was incredibly powerful, and it took years of training to achieve what they could. But due to the high demand for them, anyone that graduated from the college in Falkir was immediately granted the military rank of Navigator, which held authority equivalent to Lieutenants, and as such, were greatly respected and sought after.
Albern grunted his acknowledgement and clapped Thomas on the shoulder once again, indicating that his not being a Navigator didn't matter in the slightest to him or anyone else on board before moving on to go check on some of the other crew members.
Thomas turned and leaned against railing, back to the ocean, and let the wind whip through his hair as they sailed along. He noticed a few dark clouds on the starboard horizon, wondering how far away that storm was. They could probably outpace it, so wasn't worried. He was just glad they weren't sailing back along this route for a while, allowing the storm to pass over before they returned.
All of a sudden, a yell of alarm sounded from the Crow's Nest.
"Plasma storm, 60 ticks!"
The crew jumped to their posts once again, urgency at hand. A plasma storm was something Thomas hadn't experienced before, and the sheer panic that radiated around him whipped him up into a frenzy of his own as he helped to try and push the Twilight's Agent to it's limits in an attempt to escape the encroaching storm before it foisted itself upon them.
"30 ticks!" came the exasperated cry from above, shortly followed by the crack of thunder and the thud of a body hitting deck.
Thomas screamed as the lookout's lifeless body landed in front of him, bones cracking on impact and blood dripping from his empty eye sockets. Looking up, he saw a murder of crows circling the ship, apparently not caring for the encroaching plasma storm.
One of the crows swooped down and began attacking one of the crew-mates on the main deck, shortly followed by a few more, and Thomas froze in fear. Once he got a good view of those birds, he noticed that he could see gleaming white amongst the jet black feathers. Was that bone? These birds were either severely injured; or judging by their relentless assault on the crew, something else entirely. Screaming some more, Thomas drew his daggers and hurled himself at the crows in front of him. A couple of them took deep blows to their bodies and fell to the deck, lifeless, but the rest flew off and began circling the ship once more. Running towards the crew member that had been assaulted, Thomas helped him stand up and get below deck where he could get some medical attention. There were deep lacerations on his arms and chest, and he was also missing an eye, but he'd live.
As he turned back to the main deck, the crows that he'd personally cut down had begun to move once again. He watched, dumbstruck, as the crows wasted no time in taking flight and launching themselves at another unfortunate soul, aiming straight for their eyes. A few more tapered off from the main group and followed suit, apparently all imbued with a single minded determination to inflict as much damage as possible upon whoever they attacked.
By now, the storm had reached the ship. Crackles of lightning and plasma erupted all around, deafening the crew and temporarily blinding those who still had their eyesight, although that number continued to dwindle rapidly. The ship began to roll as the waves churned, and spray washed up on the deck, causing the crew's footing to give way, leaving them open to attack from the murder of crows that had descended and unleashed hell upon them.
Thomas ran towards the upper deck, climbing the stairs with great difficulty as the ship tossed and turned, throwing him around. He reached a wounded Albern, who bellowed something that sounded like "Save the Captain!", before charging towards the helm of the ship itself, where the captain was engaged in a duel. Cutlass clashed with sickle in a dance of steel as the captain battled against his unknown opponent. It appeared that he was gaining the upper hand, but then his assailant dropped low and threw their sickle between his legs, before yanking it back on a chain and slicing right through his ankle with brutal efficiency, causing him to immediately drop to the deck, his cutlass skittering off the deck and into the ocean below. As the two of them approached, the captain was thrown backwards by a blast of red hot wind that left his coat scorched as he tumbled backwards, before he collided with the railings and was knocked unconscious.
"Which of you two is the better warrior?" hissed the assailant, standing up and extending their tongue to taste the blood that coated their blade.
Albern stepped forward, and Thomas agreed with that decision. He was no warrior. He rushed over to the captain instead, slipping on the deck and sliding over to where the man lay. Checking for vital signs, he found a pulse and shaky breathing, but it was clear that if he didn't get medical attention soon, he would surely die from blood loss. Thomas tore the sleeve off his shirt and attempted to create a tourniquet below the knee where the captain was bleeding, knowing that if he could stem the flow of blood, there was a better chance for the man to survive. As he was tying the knot in the fabric, he turned to watch the second duel unfold as his friend threw himself at the mystery assassin.
Albern was nothing but muscle, and his blade flashed in the light of the storm as he lunged, dived and slashed with the grace and poise of a dancer. But in the end, it didn't help him. The assassin blocked, dodged and parried every strike, their movements almost serpentine as they ducked around at the very edge of his blade's reach. Before long, their posture dipped and they froze for a split second. Thomas noticed it, but was unsure what it meant until Albern's blade passed right through his opponent.
The afterimage faded, and the assassin re-materialised behind him, blade already slicing across his throat.
"Oooh, so close..." they crooned, as his body slumped to the deck, blood pouring out of the open wound like a dam that had been breached. Thomas heard them giggling and shuddered, hoping that they'd had her fill and would leave him alone. "Don't think I forgot about you, boy."
His blood turned to ice, and he slowly turned his head, meeting the assassin's gaze as they grinned and licked her lips. The storm flashed again, and he caught a glimpse at their features in the light. Their skin was pockmarked and scarred, their hair matted and tangled. Lanky limbs and twitchy movements lended to the sheer nausea factor that their presence wrought, and their eyes were wide with bloodlust and... Hunger..?
They raised the sickle in their left hand and shook it like a baby would shake a rattle, clearly taunting Thomas into making a move. But he sat where he was, frozen in abject fear as the assailant slowly approached him, seemingly unphased by the violent churning of the waves and rocking of the ship. Suddenly, they dropped into a crouch and shot forward like a coiled spring, the momentum of such a movement carrying them past where Thomas sat and out over the corpse-littered deck. Their sickle followed, and Thomas barely registered it before it cut his throat wide open and he slumped forward as his life's essence quickly began to escape his body.
He saw the assassin stood on deck, raising their arms up to the storm and chanting something he couldn't hear, before a giant writhing mass of something shot up from the depths and crashed down onto the ship, snapping it clean in two. The mysterious figure clapped their hands together, and as plasma arced down towards where they were standing, they disappeared. All that was left in their place was a charred patch of deck. As the ship began to sink and Thomas' last breath left his lips, he saw each half slowly begin to sink into the ocean, but the life had completely left his eyes by the time he he was swallowed by the dark waters of the Strait.
----------------------------------------------------
The assassin watched the ship sink through their telescope, relishing in the havoc that they'd wrought from over such a tremendous distance. The ship finally dipped below the waves, and a few survivors could be seen clinging to bits and pieces of buoyant salvage, but were soon picked off by the swarm of Necrows that remained.
"It's payday, lovelies," they hissed, their voice gritty and hoarse. They'd magically amplified it to speak to the entire crew of their ship, the Gorgon's Smile, but they were feeling the aftereffects of such powerful invocations like they'd gargled fire. "Time to reap our rewards!"
There was a shout of "Ho!", and the ship raised its black sails and jetted off towards what was left of the Twilight's Agent in the wake of the storm that had already completely dissipated. Bands of skeletal sailors readied salvaging parties, eager to get to the cargo and get their hands on something valuable. It was their's now, after all.
The last pieces of driftwood bobbed in the ocean amidst the wreckage of the ship, eyeless corpses drifting on the slow roll of the waves. Unfortunately for their souls, their time of rest wouldn't last very long. It never did on Alnwyr.